


Approach

by MistralAmara



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e11 Orbit, Gen, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistralAmara/pseuds/MistralAmara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late one night on Xenon base, Soolin and Vila get metaphysical. Set in season 4, between the episodes Orbit and Warlord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approach

**Author's Note:**

> Being given the topic 'distance' got the song 'From a Distance' stuck in my head on an infinite loop. Writing this fic was the only way I could exorcise it.

Soolin prowled the corridors of Xenon base, checking the level of a gauge here, the seal of a door there. The familiar late-night routine was a moving meditation that calmed and comforted her, and she was glad of the occupation. Anything was better than lying in her bunk trying to fight off the vague sense of foreboding that had plagued her in recent weeks.

Well, perhaps not quite anything. As she neared the aft auxiliary hatch, she became aware of a certain off-key warbling that got louder as she progressed along her route: "It's the voice of hope, it's the voice of peace, it's the voice of every man. . . ."

She should have realized that Avon's motive for asking her to do the final evening rounds had nothing to do with relieving her battle with insomnia. He was trying to avoid dealing with a drunken Vila. She could hardly blame him for that, but it was odd; he'd always coped with Vila better than any of the rest of them. Something had changed between the two men recently, but she didn't know what, nor did she care to look into it. Preparing for the visit of their potential allies was causing her stress enough at the moment.

She rounded the corner and there was Vila, sprawled in one of his favorite cubbyholes under the rear access stairs, waving a bottle of wine to and fro in time with his singing: ". . . he is watching us . . ."

 _Great. At least the bottle's nearly empty. With any luck, he's too drunk to be much trouble._ "What's that you're singing, Vila?"

"Soolin!" His face lit up briefly, then dimmed again. She saw the worry lines settle into place as he gazed sadly into the distance, and she found herself shocked to realize how much he'd changed in the short time she'd known him. It was as if a premature middle age had crept up from behind and enveloped him--complete with a crisis of existential angst, if his current state was any indication.

She'd almost forgotten that she'd asked the question when he finally answered, "It's an old, old song my Gran used to sing--'God is watching us, from a distance.' Do you believe that, Soolin? Do you believe there's a God?"

Dismay tightened the knots in her stomach. She didn't want to have this foolish conversation with a drunk, no matter how pitiful his puppy-dog eyes. _Perhaps a neutral approach_  . . . "I don't know, Vila, do you?"

"My Gran did. She believed he was looking out for us, watching us, loving us no matter how bad things got. She believed it till the day she died." He frowned. "'S odd, to think somebody you've never met cares about you. 'S odd to think anybody cares about you, innit?"

She sighed. She couldn't remember what it felt like, to think anybody really cared. "Yes, it's very odd. Now, let's get you back to your room." She grabbed his arm and pried him out of his cubbyhole, then struggled to get her shoulder under his so that she could steer him back to his cabin.

They hadn't gotten two steps before he stopped and rounded on her with an accusing look. "Hang on, you didn't answer my question. Do you believe?"

 _Don't ask me that now, not when what you really want is reassurance. Ask me that when you're stone cold sober and I've just woken up with my mother's screams ringing in my head, when I'm gasping from the phantom smoke in my lungs. Ask me, did I believe in God when I was standing over the first man I killed, puking my fifteen-year-old guts out over his splattered brains. Ask me when Avon's eyes linger on me a fraction of a second too long, and the rest of me wants him to do more than look but my hand tries to reach for my gun. Ask me some other time, but don't ask me today._

"Does it matter?"

"No." Vila shook his head sadly. "Even if he does exist, he's not watching out for me. I think Avon's scared him away. Still, It'd be nice, wouldn't it? Somebody taking care of us? And we'd never know. Do you think we'll ever know? And what'll we do in the meantime?"

She spun him around again and propelled him down the corridor. "In the meantime, we'll take care of each other. And some day, we'll find out for sure." _And if he does exist I'll have a few choice words to say to him, and then I'll get sent straight to hell._

"We'll find out? 'S good. We'll go find him together, shall we?"  
 _  
The way things are going around here, I wouldn't be a bit surprised._ "We'll do that." She maneuvered him around another corner and through the door into his room, where she deposited him onto his bunk. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, and she supposed that if she were a kinder person, she would have covered him up. But knowing Vila, he might interpret that as a sign of personal interest when he woke up.

 _Damn._ She pulled the blanket over him, anyway.

As she headed for the door she heard him say behind her, "Let's go soon, Soolin. I want to find him soon."

Hand on the light switch, she paused and looked back. He was propped up on one elbow, his sleepy eyes watching her anxiously. "Yes, Vila, soon. Now, sleep." He smiled and settled back, lapsing into gentle snores before she could punch the button and leave the room.

She was glad for him. One of them should be able to sleep.

-End-


End file.
